


Driver Picks the Music

by MissBayliss



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caretaking, Coughing, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 03:36:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16485212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBayliss/pseuds/MissBayliss
Summary: Dean's got a cough that won't quit.





	1. Chapter 1

Dean stands over the sink in the bathroom of the bunker. He's coughing, again, or still. It's worse now. He can't even remember when it started. He had it three weeks ago when they were hunting werewolves in Toledo. It was dry, niggly, grating then. Annoying more than anything. Sam had noticed. He always does. So Dean had bought some over the counter, weak ass cough syrup just to shut his brother up. 

Dean's hands are shaking as he pulls the same bottle out of the medicine cupboard and swallows the last dregs of it. 'For dry, tickly coughs' the bottle advertises. 

Yeah, so maybe it's not the best kind for him anymore, seeing as yesterday it shifted from dry and tickly to wet and bubbly. Now it's so bad he can't even lie down flat, sputtering, choking on his own lung juice whenever he tries. So, basically, he's stopped trying. 

He coughs again and it's so bad he has to grip the sides of the sink to stay upright. 

And just in the last few hours, not only has his lungs felt full, but things seem to have spread to his head as well. A battle going on between his white blood cells and whatever mutated virus that has figuratively tried to plant a flag on his respiratory system. His sinuses full of the dead soldiers that are rapidly losing the battle. 

He stumbles over to the toilet and rips off a length of toilet paper, bringing it to his nose and blowing. 

Just the sheer act of breathing in deeply and forcing the air out through his nose, sets him off coughing again, and this time he thinks he might suffocate. 

When he manages to swallow past the furry lump in his throat he's hit with a wave of nausea. The room starts rocking back and forth like he's on a boat and he has to slide down the wall onto his bum so he doesn't get thrown overboard. 

He decides it's too difficult to get up so he stays there, swallowing thickly and coughing every minute or so. 

Now it's 5am and maybe he managed to get a few minutes sleep, head burrowed in his folded arms resting on his knees. He has no idea how long he's been down here on the bathroom floor but it's probably time to get up, considering how cold it now is. He uncurls and stands and the movement forces a cough, because any freaking thing he does forces a cough. He catches his reflection in the mirror and it's not a pretty sight. He's almost grey, face slick with sweat. He throws some cold water over his face and heads out to the library. Maybe he can get a start on a lead for their next job.   
  
"Come on, man."

It's the first thing Dean hears. He blinks and tries to push himself up slightly. He's fallen asleep on the table. 

As he sits up higher, he's aware of a wet washcloth on the back of his neck, rapidly heating up with his elevated body temperature. 

"Hey, there he is."

Sam's been talking to him this whole time. 

Dean coughs and almost whimpers at the pain in his chest. He's coughed so much the last few weeks the muscles in his chest are aching something chronic. There's another pain too though, something deeper, something red hot. 

"Geez, how long have you been coughing like that?"

Dean rubs his eye with his finger, "Since Toledo."

"Not like that you haven't," Sam states, "And it was before that, in Jacksonville." 

"Dude." 

Dean leaves it at that because talking is energy he can't afford. 

"How long, Dean?"

Dean blinks, looking at his brother for the first time. He looks concerned. 

"What?"

"When did you start coughing like a pool cleaner?"

Dean thinks it's a weird analogy. 

He shrugs. Saves on energy. 

"Come on," he says again, hand on Dean's shoulder. 

Dean flinches away, "Hands are freezing," he mumbles. 

"No, you're just cooking." 

"Cooking?" Dean rubs his eyes again. 

"Stand up, dude."

Dean rattles off a cough again, feeling sweat form on his brow. 

Sam's hand is rubbing his back and it feels warmer now. 

When Dean's done Sam puts a hand under his elbow and forces him to stand. Dean's leg shake like a newborn calf and he plants his palms on the table and hunches over, waiting for the world to stop spinning. 

"Come on," Sam says again and it's like he's trying to pull him. 

"Wait," Dean gasps before he coughs again, "Gon' be sick."

Sam rushes beside him and Dean can just close his eyes and pray the contents of his stomach stay where they are. His prayers are not answered. 

Sam's there just in time though, with a trashcan under Dean's chin. 

Dean has nothing to throw up but his body tries anyway. It's useless really. And it's wasting energy he doesn't have. 

"Jesus, Dean."

And Dean feels somewhat validated by that, because it means it’s as bad as it feels. 

The washcloth from the back of his neck is gone and is now finding its way over the curves of his face. 

Next thing he knows he's in the impala. Which is weird, he thinks, because he doesn't remember getting in the impala. 

"How you doing?" 

Dean blinks out the window. 

"Where we going?"

Sam frowns and Dean feels like he asked the wrong question. 

"The doctor."

"Sam, I don't -" need a friggen doctor, is what he wants to say but a cough steals his voice and he thinks better of finishing the sentence. Yeah, alright, he needs a doctor. 

"Glad we agree," Sam says and Dean thinks he hears a streak of amusement in his voice and that's just not fair. 

"Should have known your cough was gonna get this bad. It's gone on way too long."

Dean winces and rubs his chest. It has gone on a while, he'll give Sam that.

  
Dean sits on the exam table and gets a shot of penicillin in the arm. He's let Sam answer most of the questions because now anytime he tries to talk he coughs instead. If the last four weeks haven't made him sick to death of the coughing, the last 24 hours have. 

Dean's given an inhaler and some triple strength antibiotics and advised to rest and take Tylenol for the fever. Sam bundles him into the impala and they head home to the soundtrack of

Sam’s freaking country crap.

Dean reaches out a shaky hand to change the station, only to have it gently pushed aside. Dean glares and Sam smirks.

“Driver picks the music.”


	2. Chapter 2

It's in Jacksonville, hunting a vengeful spirit when Dean starts coughing sporadically while driving. 

After three or four times, and Dean groaning at himself Sam asks him what's wrong. 

"Tickle in my throat," he says and coughs again as if to make a point. 

"You getting sick?"

"Don't feel sick, just," he clears his throat, "I dunno. It's nothing. Shut up."

So, Sam shuts up. 

The salt and burn only makes it worse and Dean tries to say he stood too close to the smoke, even though it’s never been an issue before. 

That night Dean sits at the table in the motel and coughs dry, grating hacks into his fist until 4 in the morning. 

"Not sick, huh?"

"Dude, I'm fine. I feel great just..."

"Tickle in your throat?"

Dean glares at Sam, "Yeah."

"We'll get some cough syrup in the morning."

"Like hell."

By Toledo, he's still coughing, so he finally gives in, presumably as annoyed as Sam is by it. 

The cough syrup seems to work during the day but he can't get to sleep at night. Sam's more than aware of it but Dean insists he's not sick... but the 'tickle in his throat' excuse only stretches so far. 

Still, it doesn't seem to worry him too much, and it doesn't affect his work, so he gets on with it, and Sam let's him. 

After Toledo they work another two cases, and Dean's not great at interviewing, or stakeouts anymore because the cough is pretty persistent now. 

When they get back to the bunker Dean disappears to his room and there's little to be seen of him for the next few days, which isn’t all that unusual when they’ve been on the road for a while. Sam can hear him coughing from his room, and the library, but Dean comes out and grunts at him every now and again, gets food and wanders back to his room. His face is flushed every time he sees him, pink cheeks like he's been out in the cold. 

Now that his face is down on the table and he's radiating heat Sam's a little more than worried. Dean doesn’t stir when Sam puts an intrusive hand on the back of his neck to test for fever, but then he’s so hot Sam realizes that’s probably why he’s out cold. When a cold wet washer on his neck doesn’t rouse him Sam’s already decided he needs to get him to a doctor… ASAP.

"Dean,” he says softly, both hands on Dean’s shoulders, “Wake up, man. Time to go to the doctor.” 

Sam tries to wake him several times but doesn’t elicit more than an unamused groan. Sam goes to the kitchen and is bringing back a glass of water when Dean stirs slowly. 

Sam tries talking him around, “Come on, man.”

Dean seems to struggle just pushing himself up. 

“You alright, man? We’re going to the doctor, Mr _I’m not sick_.”

Dean blinks at the table and then finally looks up at him.

"Hey, there he is," Sam jokes, realizing Dean spaced on everything he's said so far.

Dean coughs and Sam can’t help the worried expression that takes over his face. It sounds way worse than it did the last time he heard it. It’s ridiculously wet, and there’s an audible wheeze emanating from his chest.

“Geez, how long you been coughing like that?”

Dean rubs at his face, sleepily, and his eyes look a little red.

“Since Toledo.”

Sam tries to tell him he’s had the cough even longer and find out when it turned into this, but Dean’s really out of it.

When he places his hand on his back he’s alarmed because Dean seems even warmer than he was a minute ago.

Eventually he coxes him enough to stand up, contemplating if a hospital is a more appropriate choice. 

When Dean announces he’s going to be sick it’s clear he can’t make a move to stop himself throwing up all over the table so Sam grabs a nearby trashcan and shoves it under his chin just in time. Dean doesn’t throw up so much as he coughs and gags strings of yellow bile into the bin, flop sweat running down his face. It’s a sign of how sick he is, and also how little he’s eaten lately, if anything at all.

Sam rubs the washcloth over Dean’s face, trying to steady him where he stands, but soon enough the very little colour he had in his cheeks runs away and his eyes roll back in his head.

Sam could see it coming so he’s prepared to take the weight, hoisting Dean up, with difficulty, until he’s carrying him bridal style. 

Dean’s eyes flutter open on the way to the Impala, Sam grunting under the dead weight that is his 6’1” brother.

“When did’you get so big?” he rasps, his voice sounding gruff but childlike. 

Sam huffs a breathless laugh and when he glances back down, Dean’s eyes are shut again. 

He shoves his brother’s warm, disobedient limbs into the car and sets off for the nearest clinic. 

On the way Dean asks about seven times where they’re going. He coughs the whole way, making Sam stop once so he can throw nothing up on the side of the road. 

Dean teeter-totters on his feet on the way into the clinic, making Sam think it’d be easier just to punch him out and carry him the rest of the way. It’s obvious at this point though that the cough is a serious problem. 

Sam watches the terrible poker face the doctor has as he listens to Dean’s lungs. The fever’s made Dean compliant though, and he doesn’t even flinch when he gets a jab in the arm.

Probably because he looks like he’s focusing so hard on keeping the cough at bay while near pointy instruments. 

Soon enough they’re back in the car heading home and Dean looks like death warmed over, but then, they’d met Death, and even he had more colour than Dean. 

Sam is taking the narrow window of opportunity he has to listen to his music in the car, and surprisingly Dean hasn’t commented on it until now. Still he doesn’t comment, he just reaches a shaking hand towards the radio, a scowl on his face. Sam smiles at the childlike nature of the attempt, and gently nudges his hand away.

“Driver picks the music.”

Dean looks confused for a moment and then coughs for a good minute.

“Don’t quote me to me.”

Sam laughs, and maybe it’s because he’s so relieved, but Dean is still very sick, and even though Sam got him to a doctor before he collapsed a lung, it’s still going to be a tough couple of days ahead. 

“Could you,” Dean uncurls from his position against the passenger side door and sinks down in his seat, spreading out his arms and legs, “turn up the a/c.”

“You hot?” Sam asks, but complies.

“Yeah,” Dean coughs.

“Well, maybe that’s a good sign.”

Dean falls asleep after that, lungs crackling and breathing a little too quickly for Sam’s liking. 

When they pull back into the bunker garage Dean’s tossing, caught in a fever dream. He’s sweating buckets. 

Sam shepherds him from the car, through the bunker and down the hall towards his room. He passes out again along the way and Sam has to carry him the rest of the way to his bed. 

“Geez, you’re heavy,” Sam grunts, placing Dean on his sheets. 

Sam has to sit down by his brother’s bed and catch his breath after the ordeal. He’s a strong guy and by no means small, but neither is Dean, and the journey leaves him in need of a rest. 

The chair is where he sits for the majority of the day. 

Dean’s fever reduces as the day goes on and he appears more lucid the next time he wakes up. He coughs long and hard, unable to contain it, so Sam hands him his inhaler. Dean takes a shot and looks a little embarrassed, or it might just be the flush from the fit. He looks down at the inhaler and shakes his head.

“Thanks, Sammy… you know –“ his voice is rough and thick with phlegm.

Sam puts up a hand to stop him, “No chick flick moments.”

Dean furrows his brow, coughs once into his elbow, “Bitch.”

Sam laughs, “Yeah, whatever, jerk.”

  
**End**


End file.
